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To MFA or not to MFA?

Guest blogger Laurel Synder writes to us from Atlanta about the joys of an MFA—ladder, what ladder? Laurel is the editor of
Killing the Buddha and is currently finishing work on an anthology, Half/Life: Jew-ish tales from Almost, Not Quite, and In-Between, for
Soft Skull Press. A chapbook of her poems is forthcoming from
Burnside Review, and she blogs daily at
Jewishyirishy.com.
Personally, we think she rocks and we're glad she stopped by.

Guest Blogger Laurel Snyder

I’ve never “guest-blogged” before, but since the Happy Booker has been kind enough to ask me, I’m pleased as punch to give it a whirl! But what to write about? In searching for a topic worthy of “guest-blog-status” I considered scribbling about the following topics:

1. How I got a job as a podcaster
2. Why freelance writing is SO not worth it
3. Atlanta really sucks for poets

And I’ll be happy to chat about such topics anytime. Just email me!

But yesterday, my friend “Arabella” called me on the phone. She’s just started an MFA program and is losing her mind, surrounded suddenly with scrambling peers, intimidating instructors, and confusing social etiquette.

Arabella’s teachers want her to find her voice. Arabella’s peers want to talk about career options and calculated maneuvers. And Arabella’s instinct is to scream. For this she went into debt? For this she gave up her job as a high school teacher? For this?

“Yes,” I told her, “For this— It will all be fine. You’ll adjust.”

But after I’d hung up the phone, I found myself thinking about my own MFA experience, at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop.

I moved to Iowa from the Chattanooga, TN and there, I discovered that I was under-read, and wearing a giant chip on my shoulder. I felt lost in a muddle of careerists and ivy leaguers, so I did the only thing I knew how to do— got a job waiting tables.

Somehow I waded through two years of drinking/pretending to be happy. I covered myself in a veneer of blue-collar iconoclasm, and pretended I didn’t really care about success. I got through it. But all around me, my classmates began to publish books and to score teaching jobs. And there I was, working at the diner.

Of course, after a few years, the thrill of serving hash browns wore off, and so did the iconoclasm. I missed the other half of myself, the part that had applied to Iowa in the first place. Slowly, I began to really write again, and even more slowly I began to send out my work, a few poems at a time. And for the first time in awhile, I wrote. In a year I cranked out a kiddie-novel, 5 picture books— and a collection of poems. The chip fell off my shoulder. I grew more confident.

And now, happily back on track, but moving at my own pace, I consider my experience in the Workshop, and I think about what might have happened if I’d published right away, if I HAD been a golden child, a success story.

It seems to me that there is a perceived ladder in the MFA world, a mythical order of steps. The understanding, while you’re in an MFA program, is that you need to climb that ladder.

First step is magazine publications while in school. Second step is a devoted mentor with connections. Third step is a precocious first book award. Fourth step is a fellowship. Fifth step is a teaching job. Sixth step is a second book. Seventh step is tenure… and so on, right on up to the Pulitzer, Macarthur, or National Book Award.

Guess what? It’s crap.

Because once you get on the ladder it’s easy to fall off. What happens to the first-book golden child when they DON’T beat out their peers for a fellowship in Provincetown? And the faculty-member denied tenure? So often, that’s the end of a writer. Because to climb the ladder, you have to believe in it.

And if you aren’t climbing the ladder?

I used to measure the dedication and seriousness of a writer by how quickly they published, and I did NOT feel successful. Now, I measure the dedication and seriousness of a writer by how long they keep writing WITHOUT publishing.

Ten years out of your MFA without a book deal, and still scribbling? NOW you’re a writer.

So I called Arabella back and told her this story. I explained. “You went to an MFA to write, and now you just need to write. You were good enough to get in, and that means you’re good enough to get published. Someday.

In the meantime, there’s a world out there, and a diner if you need it!”

Comments

Thanks for the story Laurel---very interesting and good advice I think. I wonder if the perspective is the same for "older" students---say mid-30s on---who decide to pursue an MFA. Is it the same ladder? Do they find the same mentoring "opportunities?" Hmmmm.

I think it's all about equal, at least at Iowa... some people do, and some people don't (find mentors, agents, etc) but I never noticed age to be a real factor. Iowa gets a fair amount of older students, people with families and professional lives...

What I WILL say is that I think the older students are less susceptible to the bs, since they have more important things in their lives than worrying about popularity, status, etc. They've got kids to feed, you know?

I think the older students tend to take the "education" (overall) more seriously...

I think it's all about equal, at least at Iowa... some people do, and some people don't (find mentors, agents, etc) but I never noticed age to be a real factor. Iowa gets a fair amount of older students, people with families and professional lives...

What I WILL say is that I think the older students are less susceptible to the bs, since they have more important things in their lives than worrying about popularity, status, etc. They've got kids to feed, you know?

I think the older students tend to take the "education" (overall) more seriously...

I've been writing in ATL for some time. In several ways, it does such for poets. The Tech program helped. The colleges host some things. But, the community seems clichish and closed. Hum. I am finding the friends I have met through writing experiences give me more than the city, although I never thought that would be the case.

In the MFA program at the University of Montana, I found the professors and "career" writers were more likely to mentor those without families, and those they championed during the admission process. My teachers were very helpful and often inspiring, but I don't think they knew what to do with a forty year old gray hair with two small children. It took two years out of school before I was able to really write again, and for all the right reasons--and not to satisy potential mentors, impress workshop participants, or get noticed by editors. The key is perspective, and eternal patience.

Laurel, this is a great piece. I only saw it today while poking around the blogosphere. As someone, um, what, five or six years out, who just stumbled into my first book deal, I can certainly concur. The hardest part comes when you've got to reconcile the afterglow of MFA-land with the abyss of real life. And keep writing.